Mad World
by Gypsy Dance and Broken Glass
Summary: How does one cope with death? Especially when it's the love of your life?


**Title: **Mad World  
**Rating:** PG  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own any of NBC's incredible characters. Hopefully I've borrowed them and returned them in pristine condition.  
**Credits:** Mad World is by artist Gary Jules  
**Notes:** I'm all about constructive criticism/feedback, so if you have the time, I'd greatly appreciate your thoughts.

* * *

_All around me are familiar faces_

_Worn out places_

_Worn out faces_

"Elliot, I'm so sorry."

"This must be so hard for you. It's awful what happened. I'm sorry."

"If you need anything…."

Elliot Stabler held up a hand. "I know. Don't hesitate to call. Thanks Munch."

Turning his back to the crowded room, he took a deep breath. Surrounded by a sea of black he felt indescribably out of place. Mascara ran down numerous faces, and there was not a dry eye to be seen.

Looking around at the hundreds of people who had gathered, Elliot could not help but feel disappointed. This is not how she would have wanted things to be. For her sake, he had taken care to wear his light blue shirt with the cufflinks she had gotten him two Christmases ago, a silver tie knotted tightly at his throat. His hands trembled, but he had shed no tears. She had made him promise not to cry.

As he arrived at the edge of her casket, he felt a lump growing in his throat and hastily tried to suppress it. He couldn't cry here. Not now. He glanced down at her and drew in a shaky breath. Her face was gaunt and pale, not unlike it had been the last time he had seen her, not five days ago. A bruise was just visible beneath the edge of her sweater, and Elliot felt his hands clench into fists.

"Elliot…"

He turned to see Kathy a few feet away, tears in her eyes.

"Not now," he said quietly.

She nodded, and moved into a corner with the children. Cathleen looked frightened, and Elliot questioned going over to comfort her, but decided against it. He had all the time in the world to be with his kids. This was his last chance to be with her.

Bending over, his face inches from hers, he felt the tears well up behind his eyes, threatening to spill over onto her lifeless body. Sniffling, he took a deep breath.

"Liv… it's me." He paused and sniffed again. "I don't really know what to say." He quickly glanced around the room before returning his gaze to her. "But you'd hate the fuss everyone's making. They didn't get your favorite flowers, the tiny orchids you like. But at least they're white. White roses are okay, right?" He sighed. "There's a lot of people here for you, Liv. You meant a lot to a whole lot of people."

A tear fell.

"Especially me. You meant… _mean_... everything to me. I'm sorry I let you down. I'm sorry I didn't get there fast enough. I'm sorry I couldn't save you. But I love you, Liv, I always have." He bent down and kissed her forehead, ignoring its icy temperature and the stitches just above her brow. "I'll always love you."

Straightening, gathering himself, he turned around and strode straight through the door and into the frigid January air.

A lone tear still lay on Olivia Benson's cheek.

* * *

It was 2:37am. Somewhere, a phone went off. 

"I'm coming," Elliot muttered as he fumbled out of bed, making his way into the kitchen.

"I'm coming!" he shouted, snatching up the handset and turning it on. "This is Stabler."

For a moment there was silence, and then he heard shallow breathing on the other end. He glanced down at the caller ID and saw the name 'Benson' in luminescent writing. Tearing his gaze away, he hurried back into his room, pulling on some jeans, the phone tucked safely between his cheek and shoulder.

"Liv, what is it?" he asked, pulling on a pair of socks.

"Help me, Elliot," she whispered. "He went out for a cigarette, he'll be back any minute. I'm not sure where I am, but he drove for about a half hour. I don't think we're still in the city. I can't hear any cars. I'm in the basement. He-"

"Liv, who is he? Who, Liv, who has you?"

"Doyle. He was waiting outside my apartment when I got home."

Mentally, Elliot smacked himself. He knew he should have waited to take her home.

"Elliot, you have to get me out of here. He's drugged me. I can't move my legs."

"I'll find you, Liv. We'll be there as soon as we can."

"Hurry," she whispered. "I have to go."

"Olivia-" But she had already hung up.

* * *

Back in the confines of his own apartment, Elliot pressed his face against the icy window, staring out at the city of Manhattan through blurred vision. His stomach growled, but the thought of food repulsed him. His head pounded and his eyes burned from the amount of crying he had done in the past few hours. His insides felt hollow, and he felt as if he would never be whole again. 

Snowflakes fell from the sky, sparkling underneath the light of the streetlamps below. He and Olivia had sat there two weeks ago, staring at the same marvelous night, in awe of winter's beauty.

Winter would never be beautiful again. No season, no day, no hour would ever emit happiness as it once had. Olivia had loved the snow, had even made him go to the park one afternoon to make snow angels. He watched as children pulled each other through the blanket of snow in toboggans in the park across the street. It pained him to see how happy others could be in this moment.

Turning his back to the window, he took a swig of beer and sank to the floor. Life had betrayed him yet again. Ironically, he had met the love of his life while married. He had divorced Kathy, but not because of her. Not because of Olivia. They had spent years afterward trying to sort out their feelings. He had nearly lost his life. Now she had, and he was left with no one. He could never go back to the force. He couldn't bear the thought of having to stare at her desk every day, expecting to see her glance up from her computer and smile at him. Everything that had brought stability in his times of need had suddenly been wrenched out from under him, and he felt utterly and completely alone. For the first time in his life, Elliot Stabler was completely on his own.

* * *

"Captain!" Elliot grunted, entering the squad room at breakneck speed. "It's Olivia. Doyle has her." 

Munch and Fin, hearing the commotion, came over to investigate.

"Did she call you?"

"Fifteen minutes ago. I already called and put a tracker on Doyle's car. Nothing yet."

"Okay. Munch, Fin, check Doyle's records. Maybe there's something in there that can help us. A favorite hang out, anything."

The two hurried off to wreak havoc on Doyle's files.

"Elliot, what did she say?" Cragen asked, concerned.

"Uh, she said they drove about half an hour, she can't hear any cars, so she doesn't think they're in the city. He's got her drugged, she can't walk."

"Okay people, we know this guy, and we know he's got a license to kill. We're talking about one of our own here. Let's get this son-of-a-bitch."

* * *

_Bright and early for the daily races_

_Going nowhere, going nowhere_

_The tears are filling up their glasses_

_No expression, no expression_

_Hide my head I wanna drown my sorrow_

_No tomorrow, no tomorrow_

It was early when Elliot made his way up the precinct stairs. He ignored the sympathetic looks he received, nodding briefly at the few who dared to say hello. He headed straight for Cragen's office, closing the door silently behind him.

"Elliot. Take a seat."

Elliot shook his head, chewing the inside of his cheek, a habit he had developed when he was frustrated and at a loss for words.

"I can't even imagine what you're going through, Elliot. Take as much time off as you need."

He glanced up then, staring the captain hard in the face. "That's what I came to talk to you about, Captain." He swallowed. He had made the right decision. "I can't. I can't do this job without her." He took a deep breath. "I came to tell you that I'm leaving."

Cragen sighed, lacing his fingers together, resting his chin on them. "Somehow I figured as much," he said. "I'm not surprised, just sorry to see you go."

"I'm sorry. But I have to." He pulled open the door. "Take care, Captain."

He ran into Fin and Munch as he was cleaning out his desk.

"Going somewhere?" Munch asked, spying the duffle bag full of Elliot's personal affects.

"I can't do this job, Jon. Not without her."

"So you quit," Fin said. It wasn't a question.

"It's best if I don't come back," Elliot said.

"We all miss her too, Elliot," Munch argued, crossing his arms. "Nothing's going to be the same without her. But you're doing her memory a disservice if you quit."

"No, you don't miss her," Elliot snapped. "Not like I do. You didn't love her."

"No, we didn't," Fin agreed, sensing the tension in their friend's shoulders. "But Munch is right. She wouldn't have wanted you to quit just because she's gone."

"Well, she doesn't have any say in this, does she?" Elliot quipped, closing the bag and swinging it over his shoulder. "She's dead."

He ran a hand over his scalp and tried to calm himself. "It's been fun," he said, and shook each man's hand. "I'll see you around."

He was getting sick of saying goodbye.

* * *

Olivia lay in a heap in the corner, unable to move. The room was dank and reeked of sewage and months-old leftovers, located in the freezer a few feet away. Her cheek rested against the cold cement floor, and she had seen a rat scurry past a few hours ago. Her wrists were tied behind her back with thick rope that burned her skin when she moved. Doyle had drugged her with something that made it impossible for her to move her legs. Never in her life had Olivia Benson felt so helpless. 

She had been lucky Doyle had forgotten to take away her cell phone. It had taken some difficult maneuvering on her part, but hope had flickered inside her when she had been able to get a hold of Elliot. Her best friend, her knight in shining armor, would find her, rescue her and whisk her away to a better place and time.

But it had been over 24 hours since she had spoken to him. Doyle had found her phone and had crushed it under his huge boots, the same boots that had broken her ribs. In his anger, Doyle had taken a knife and defiled her face and hands, and dried blood now stuck to her skin in clumps and made her sick to her stomach. Her vision had become blurry, and her head spun in such a way that she had been forced to vomit on more than one occasion. She had lain there, wondering if this is how she was going to die.

Suddenly, she heard gunshots above her, and Elliot's voice calling for her. There was a clattering on the stairs, and suddenly Doyle's bloodied face swam into view.

"Nooooo!" She heard Elliot cry, but it was too late. As Elliot pulled the trigger, Doyle pulled his own and Olivia saw a blinding flash of white, then everything faded as her eyes slowly fluttered shut.

* * *

_And I find it kinda funny_

_Find it kinda sad_

_That the dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had_

Elliot sat beside her, listening to the steady _blip-blip-blip_ of the heart monitor as he ran his hand through her hair, his eyes wet with tears. Munch, Fin, Casey and Cragen were all there, silent. Waiting.

After what seemed like hours, the doctor came in, surprised to see so many people. Elliot had been the only one there when he left.

"Any changes?" he asked, picking up Olivia's chart.

"No," Elliot whispered, fighting the bile rising in his throat. Olivia's wrists were raw from where the rope had been pulled tight, and her face was covered in deep gauges. She had three broken ribs, a broken nose, severe brain damage, and the possibility that she would be paralyzed, depending on whether or not she pulled through. Doyle had defiled his love in a way he had never thought possible.

"Is she going to make it?" Casey asked, chewing nervously on a nail.

"We'll have to wait and see," Doctor Boswick said. "If she comes out of the coma, I'd say she's got a pretty good chance."

Elliot appreciated his optimism, regardless of the fact that he didn't believe a word of it.

"I'll be in again later to check on her again."

"Thanks, Doctor," the group mumbled.

"I'm going to go get some coffee," Munch said pointedly. "Anybody else want to come?"

"Sure, why not," Casey said, motioning for Cragen and Fin to follow.

"We'll be outside if you need us," Fin said. Close enough for comfort, but far enough away to give Elliot time with her alone.

He nodded his thanks.

He waited for everyone to leave, then climbed onto the bed beside Olivia. Afraid to jar her in any way, he kept to the edge of the bed, but couldn't help intertwining his fingers with hers. They were still smooth, unlike the rest of her hand, which had been sliced until it was barely a hand anymore. He fought the tears threatening to fall again, and was surprised to feel a finger curl around his hand.

He looked down and was overjoyed to see Olivia's eyes staring clearly back at him.

"Hey stranger," she rasped, smiling softly.

"Hey yourself," Elliot replied, bending down to plant a light kiss on the tip of her nose. "How do you feel?"

"Like I got hit by a semi," she replied honestly. "How bad is it?"

"Pretty bad," he said honestly. "But the doc said that if you woke up, there was a good chance you'd be just fine."

Olivia nodded and breathed a deep sigh, a tear leaking out the corner of her eye and trickling down her cheek. Elliot saw it and wiped it away.

"You know you can talk to me, Liv," he said, knowing she would when she was ready.

"I don't think there's going to be much talking after tonight," she whispered.

"What're you talking about," Elliot teased, forcing a smile. "You're going to be fine."

"Somehow, I don't think so," she said quietly. "I know my body better than any doctor."

"Stop that," Elliot muttered, putting a finger to her lips. "You're not going to die."

"Elliot… You know that I love you."

"Liv, stop it."

"And you've been my best friend. You're the best partner a cop could ask for."

Elliot was aware that the beeping of the monitor was slowing its pace. He glanced around for a nurse, but Olivia reached out a hand, resting it lightly on his arm, his muscles tense.

"Promise me you won't cry," she pleaded. "I need to know that you're going to be alright."

"Liv, you're not going to die!"

"Promise me."

"Liv-"

"Elliot." She stared at him with eyes he couldn't help but be transfixed by.

He took a deep breath, tears beginning to fall. "I promise. I promise I won't cry."

"You already are, silly," she whispered, reaching up and wiping them away. "Elliot, you'll be okay. You'll move on with your life, fall in love, get married again."

"I won't," he said. And he meant it. "I love you."

"I love you, too," she said, her voice fading.

"Olivia?" he begged, tears falling onto her hand. "Olivia, open your eyes. Liv!"

The heart monitor began to whine, and a crowd of nurses rushed in, shouting medical terms Elliot didn't understand. He was pushed to the far corner of the room, watching helplessly as Olivia took her last breath. Sinking to the floor, he buried his head in his hands and wept.

* * *

_I find it hard to tell you_

_Find it hard to take_

_When people run in circles_

_It's a very, very mad world_

As he sat outside the precinct some months later, Elliot Stabler rubbed the plaque that hung proudly outside its doors. 'In loving memory of Olivia Margaret Benson. The strongest of us all.'

It had taken him months to come to a decision, but having moved around for nearly half a year, he had found himself drawn back to this place, this city. Every good memory he had could be found here. How had he expected to live anywhere else? He had been unable to make friends, unable to hold a steady job. Nowhere seemed to fit quite like the city of New York.

"Hey," Cragen said, taking a seat on the bench beside him.

"Captain."

"I hear you're back in town."

"Yeah."

"Looking for a job?"

"Got one available?"

"I might. Come inside, and we'll take a look."

Elliot shouldered his bag and took one last look at the city he would always call home. The sky was blue, the sun shining, much like it had been the day he had lost his best friend. But he had shed his tears for Olivia. He was going to keep his promise. She had been the strongest of them all, but now he was going to learn to be strong on his own. In this mad world, you have to stand on your own. He was ready to do that now, with a memory of a love strong enough to withstand time.


End file.
